Poetry

 
Gentle fingers of vivid dreams...
master at avoiding things.
Surprised to see another day,
but still live in disarray.

Uninterrupted a prisoner of the past.
Makes you feel so special holding a piece of glass.
Beauty to you is untouched,
Its purity... made by man.
Hidden scars beneath peeled skin...
mute to hear the screams within.

Tears of something lost, dying in your eyes,
sticks forms your castle...
built in the sky.

Still never learnt yet lesson...
chasing lies and ruined dreams.
Broken hearts reflect the cost... of unworthy things!

What is stable, decaying within...
holding a piece of glass makes you whole again.
no one  see’s your pain,
or problematic life...
blaming the world for your mistakes
Take responsibility, carry some of the weight.

Ignorance is golden...
for a fool who loves gold.
Or builds with sticks instead of stones.
When will you learn to follow,
the guidance of the spirit within?
When listening is worth so much more,
than broken glass shattered...
 from an afflicted soul.